Glass

Glass

Wine

Lamb chops

Horse

Glass

That bottle of white wine,

Sits half empty in his fridge,

That carton of red wine,

Sits half full,

On his kitchen table,

Those lamb chops,

Sit half used,

In his freezer,

Those horses,

Sit half attended too,

In their stables,

He’s lost the desire,

The drive,

To pull that bottle,

Out of its shelf,

And pour it.

Into a glass,

He’s lost the need,

To empty that wine,

Into the glass,

Sitting below it,

He’s lost the hunger,

To see,

Those, who love him the most,

The wine,

All alone,

Waiting for another chance,

To share,

Its fruitiness,

Its sharpness,

Its boundless,

Energy,

To share,

With someone who cares,

It’s not like,

He doesn’t want to,

Its just he doesn’t see the point,

But,

Such a waste,

Of those precious coins,

So it sits there,

And waits,

To spill a drop,

Sharing,

Its endless joys,

With that special,

One,

Who it belongs to,

That special one,

Who isn’t thirsty,

Yet,

Will,

Swirl it around,

Slowly releasing it,

Pleasures,

Like the sun,

Waking up the seeds

At dawn,

Will be known,

And that waiting,

Alone on the cold shelf,

And on the warm table,

Will have all been done,

In jest,

Because,

Its she,

Who he,

Has been waiting for.

That ice,

On those four walls,

Have been a bit chilly,

Sitting in there,

With the scraps,

Waiting to go out,

Even to the pig bucket,

On the first floor,

Would be a better journey,

Then sitting here,

Alone with the cubes,

Constantly disappearing

Going to dance,

With Jack,

Or Jim,

Reappearing,

But this time,

A little wet, a little shaky,

They long,

To go for a dip,

And mix with some juice,

Browning,

Tenderizing,

Those long red legs,

That huge red heart,

They whist,

To mix with green,

And red,

And white,

And orange,

And yellow,

Stretching out,

On that big wide bed,

Giving all its glory,

Being admired,

For its beautiful body,

Ready,

To be used,

What

For its reason for living,

Ready,

To be used for,

Its reason for existing,

Ready,

To mingle,

With its friend,

Chilling on the shelf,

Ready to mingle,

With its friend,

Warming on the table,

Ready,

To be used,

To fulfill,

The pleasures,

It was destined for.

They are there,

Not for him,

Not before him,

Not for anything,

To do with him,

Yet they are there,

He feels sick,

He feels alone,

He just doesn’t feel,

Like he’s that bowl,

Of just right without them,

He tries to break away,

He tries to leave them,

Yet,

He just can’t,

That knife,

Stabs him,

Deep within his heart,

When he’s not around them,

Suddenly,

Food,

Water,

Become to swallow,

When he realizes,

He won’t be near them,

He needs them,

As much,

As he needs air to breath,

He’ll sneak up to them,

Give them a pat on the head,

A rub on the back,

A hug around the neck,

He’ll put his hand in their mouth,

He’ll sit beneath their chest,

He’ll lie against their belly,

All dirty on the ground,

He’ll give them a kiss,

Right between their eyes,

He’ll give them a kiss,

Right smack on their lips,

He’ll whisper,

To them,

His greatest secrets,

His greatest fears,

He’ll whisper to them,

His greatest joys,

Those moments,

Where the happiness drips,

From his eyes,

He’ll talk to them,

They listening,

Intently,

Like the cat,

Resting on his lap,

Back when he was young,

They’ll take it all in,

They turn to rock,

As he turns to butter,

Melting away,

Under their intense heat,

They know,

All his secrets,

He can’t hide from them,

They know,

That although,

He has his moments,

And for reasons,

That only they know,

He won’t rear his head,

Won’t open his heart,

For a while,

They know,

That when he does,

He will be theirs again,

Like he always was,

He knows,

That four years,

Has been to short,

They know,

That they have grown,

He knows,

He’s soft on them,

Too soft,

To get angry,

And give them work,

They know,

He’s their play dough,

Molding,

Making,

New strange shapes,

He knows,

That those four,

Have been the best part,

Of why he’s stayed,

They know,

That,

It’s more then,

Just the original four,

He knows,

Like them,

He spreads his love around,

Although,

Those four will always,

Take the top rings,

In the ladder,

That is his heart,

They know,

That the time will come,

The time will end,

And he will once more,

Desire,

One he can call his own,

Like he did,

Before,

In another life,

Although,

That special one,

Was a little smaller,

Sleeping with him in bed,

They know,

That the time will come,

That the time will end,

And that he will once more,

Desire,

One he can call his own,

Like he did before,

And took a dive,

Took a fly,

And landed in their lair,

They know,

That day,

When he was,

Kicking the stones,

Looking for a bar,

Finding a club,

Of the four legged sort,

Was the day,

That would never end.

He knows,

They are the glow,

That is his sun.

That wine,

Chilling,

On the shelf,

Warming on the table,

That lamb,

Spread out on the bed,

All dressed in green,

Those horses,

Resting,

Rolling over in the hay,

Harbor,

Stories from yesterday,

Living in the day,

Waiting,

To share,

And give the love,

For tomorrow.